


There's A Black Mark On His Soul

by princedeadend



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Conspiracy, Drinking, Eventual Smut, Family Issues, Fist Fights, Found Family, Gunshot Wounds, Keith is going to challenge the hell out of that, M/M, Minor Character Death, Robbery, Shiro is the epitome of Lawful Good, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:04:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12486568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princedeadend/pseuds/princedeadend
Summary: Although it may be set in the wild west, this isn’t a story about rescuing a damsel in distress and saving the day. It’s not even a simple case of the hero defeating the outlaw.No.This is a story about murder, betrayal, defying expectations, and overcoming a fate built on a single lie while negotiating what it means to be good, truly good, and learning to trust again.This is the story of Keith discovering that Shiro is still alive in the most unexpected and inconvenient of ways; of Shiro finding out what Keith’s been up to all these years which ultimately leads to Keith in handcuffs kicking and hollering, and the two of them in way over their heads as Keith uncovers a conspiracy and plots his revenge.





	There's A Black Mark On His Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This AU has been a long time coming. I couldn't get the idea of lawman Shiro v outlaw Keith out of my head and here we are. It's expanded and gotten far more detailed than I expected it to but that's how these things tend to go. This is gonna be a whole lot of self-indulgence.

_The house is silent; eerie in the absence of the usual sounds of his mother moving between rooms, sweeping the ever present dust from the wood floors, the splashing of water as she washes up after meals._

_Her singing._

_He finds her in the kitchen. She isn’t at her typical place in front of the small window that looks out towards the pasture and the fields where the corn grows tall beyond that. It was here that he would lick spoons clean of their sweet pie fillings as his mother washed up at a deep basin; where he played beneath the table, pulling at his mother’s skirts as she drifted around preparing dinner, kissing his father ‘hello’ when he came in from tending to the animals and the fields._

_Always singing._

_But she isn’t waiting for him to return from playing with some of the children who lived down the road and he knows it’s wrong. All wrong. He’d helped collect the eggs, feed the cows, and water the horses before he’d run off for the day leaving his mother alone to herself while his father was in town._

_The silence is jarring._

_“Mama?”_

_She’s crumpled on the floor in the corner, curled in on herself. Her eggshell dress is stained crimson from the halo of blood blossoming from her chest. Her cheeks are devoid of their usual rosiness. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulder, shielding part of her face like ink spilling across porcelain._

_He isn’t unfamiliar with death. His father had explained it to him when one of the horses had gone lame after an accident on the road. He’d carted the mare back home and called for Keith to come outside. He’d been present as his father stroked the horse’s head, shushing her gently to calm her before showing him how to draw an invisible “x” from the ears to the opposite eyes._

_“Imagine the ‘x’ and aim for where the lines cross.”_

_He’d been scared, teary-eyed and hiccuping, until his father had murmured to him too, explaining that the creature was in pain, would only suffer and this was what had to be done to help. Keith had nodded and wiped away his tears. Despite having his little fingers jammed in his ears, he’d jolted, eyes scrunching tight at the sound of the gunshot._

_His gaze locked on to the mare’s quickly dulling eyes. The same dull look in his mother’s. He takes a step forward, toe of his worn shoe disturbing the cooling blood. He’d seen death first hand but this wasn’t like the horse at all._

_Had she been sick? Hurt? Did she need to be helped? Was she in pain? Had someone soothed her, reassuring her that it would be okay? Stroked her hair?_

_He didn’t know. He felt his lip begin to quiver and the image of his mother blurred._

_“Mama?”_

...

He comes to with a blink, eyes still locked on to the woman cowering on the floor before him, dark hair curtaining her pretty face. He shakes his head and adjusts his stance, shoulders beginning to ache from holding his twin pistols out in front of him; a warning to the bank’s patrons. There’s scuffling around the corner, the distinct plink of coins as they’re dumped into burlap sacks. Keith hears hollering outside and it’s only a matter of time now before the sheriff arrives. He surveys the room carefully before his eyes drift back to the woman who reminds him so much of his mother in her fine silk dress. The thought of her in such gowns crosses his mind briefly though he knows they’d have gone unworn and she’d simply call him silly. Always sensible. If she could only see him now. Her only son. A bandit. A thief. Of course, there are worse things to be out west. Dead being one of them, he supposes. But you did what you had to do.

The bang of a door flying open with enough force to shake dust from the rafters followed by shouting knocks Keith from his thoughts once again. He curses the layout of the building under his breath, unable to see who or how many are coming for them. Movement from the corner of his eye prompts a quick redirection of his pistol, hammer drawn at the ready. The older gentleman freezes in place, eyes wide as he stares down the barrel. 

“Don’t. Move,” he repeats yet again emphasizing each syllable carefully. 

The man nods and Keith can see the way he’s trembling in fear as he lowers himself back to the worn wood floor. A gunshot he can’t account for rings through the commotion and he tenses immediately. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Anyone with a gun should have been corralled and left up front with him. Screams from those unfortunate enough to have picked this fine morning to visit the bank are drowned out by the rhythmic pounding of Keith’s heartbeat in his ears as he wonders who caught the bullet. A bead of sweat runs down his spine and he shifts uneasily in his boots. There’s always a risk but it never gets any easier.

A familiar voice yells “go, go, go” as a tan, bearded man rounds the corner, arms laden with anything and everything he can carry. It’s not until Lance stumbles around as well, nearly skidding and eyes bright with excitement, bringing up the rear that Keith lets himself relax. 

“Aww, were you waiting for little ol’ me?” Lance asks with a wink and a smirk.

“Hardly.” Keith shoots him an unimpressed look, rolling his eyes instead when he remembers Lance can’t see his face but does a quick sweep of the room before turning and following him out to where they have their horses tied up and waiting for them.

“Let’s go, boys!”

They mount their horses in smooth practiced movements, nudging them on with their heels and a “hyah!” as they take off down the main street. It had been a simple plan. A small job for three people in their outfit. Get in. Get out. They’d taken the time to find out which days were slow and had a decent estimate on what they could expect to leave with. Judging by the less than full satchels strapped to their saddles, it was less than they’d anticipated which only meant they’d be out again sooner than Keith or Lance would prefer. With his brother calling the shots though, Lance only had so much leeway. 

They don’t get far before the bullets start flying which only serves to dial up Keith’s adrenaline. It’s not that he has a deathwish but there really is nothing like the thrill of the chase. They give each other a wide berth as they ride, zig-zagging loosely as they kick up earth to make themselves more difficult targets. Hooves sound behind them but with the headstart they have, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get away clean. Especially not with the bright morning sun on their horizon making them difficult to distinguish through the glare. At least they’d planned something right.

Keith glances over just in time to catch Lance let out a triumphant “whoop” as he smiles wide, urging his black and white painted horse on faster as brass pelts the ground around them. He’s struck suddenly silent, mouth gaping, as a bullet tunnels through the top of his hat and blows it clean off his head and into the dust behind them. Shame really. It was a good hat. A quick once over lets Keith know he’s not injured but when they lock eyes, he knows they now have a different sense of urgency. It doesn’t stop Lance from pulling his gun from its holster and aiming it behind them, steady and poised despite the bouncing in his saddle. He pulls the trigger and catches one of the men in the shoulder. 

“That’s for my hat, assholes!”

Keith snorts and watches as the man falls to the side, feet caught in the stirrups, and drags his horse down with the sudden movement. Another man riding behind him is caught up and his horse tumbles as well at the unexpected obstacle. He grimaces for the animals knowing it’s likely at least one of them will need to be put down as a result but he can’t be too sorry about it. With the loss of half of their compatriots, the last riders on their heels decide they’re not willing to go after them alone. Smart men.

The sun is high in the cloudless sky by the time they reach the wooded stream that marks the halfway point between towns. Lance tugs his boots off and wades into the cool water first, immediately cupping water in his hands and bringing it to the crown of his head, shivering as it runs in streams under his yellowed shirt. Keith pulls his bandana down off his face and sighs as a breeze dries the sweat on his upper lip before removing his hat and shaking out his damp hair. The water feels good on his bare legs and calloused feet.

“Well that was a shitstorm,” Rafael grumbles, stroking his horse as it drinks with the others. “We should have brought more with us. Could have used the eyes.”

Lance only shrugs in response and skips a stone. He’s perched on a rock, toes kicking at the surface of the stream lazily. “Reckon we did alright what with my sharpshooting and all.” He flashes a smile and blows the tip of his index finger. 

Keith contemplates whether he’s close enough to kick Lance into the water from where he’s sitting. Rafael must be wondering the same and they share a look. But as exasperating as he can be, there’s no doubt that Lance is the best shot in their gang. A good teacher too. He’d spent multiple afternoons with Keith shooting cans, glass bottles, anything he could scavenge up. All patience and no condescension until he was firing with surprisingly decent accuracy. He’d become proficient with a gun but he’d never match Lance’s precision. Not that it mattered much. He had his own talents.

Rested and back in their saddles, they continue on until they reach the outskirts of home. The sun is beginning to set, sky ablaze in pinks and oranges and the air cools until the dark coat that hits Keith’s thighs is comfortable again as the wind whips through it.

“You joining us for a round this time or are you going to go off to your humble hovel to be alone with your thoughts and feelings?” Lance asks as he sidles up alongside Keith.

Keith’s mouth twists to the side as he considers, ignoring the jab. On most occasions, he’d part from the others here and return to the lonely shack he’d stumbled upon years ago and claimed for his own but tonight...tonight he feels too introspective. He’d rather stay out of his head lest he fall down the bottomless pit of “what ifs.” Enough time had been dedicated to that already over the years. He’s restless. In need of distraction. Could definitely use a drink. “Ah, what the hell.”

He smiles at the heavy clap on his shoulder. “Attaboy.”

Rafael gives him a genial nod and urges them on towards town with a comment about wanting to get back before the coyotes come out.

_______

Lance slows his horse’s gait just as they approach the main road, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth while eyeballing the direction of home. “Y’know, I think I’m gonna stop in at the house and check on everyone. Make sure they ate, haven’t killed each other. Usual stuff.”

Keith raises an eyebrow and feigns offense. “And after guilting me into coming with you too. Unbelievable.” As the youngest sibling still at home and an uncle to a handful of kids, of course Lance would want to make sure they were doing alright. Especially with the condition his mother’s been in. He hadn’t said anything while they’d been away but Keith and Rafael could tell he was anxious to get back even it it had only been a few days. “Go on then. You won’t be missing much.”

“I’ll give you your share at home,” Rafael promises. “Tell ma I’ll be back soon.”

“Sounds good. Oh! Hold on a second.” Lance leans down to dig through one of the saddlebags strapped to his horse, searching carefully for something. With a quiet “aha” he sits up and extends his arm to Keith, a bundle of bright blue forget-me-nots in hand. He ignores the eye roll from his brother. 

“When did you pick those?”

“River. Now, give my regards to the lovely lady. I’d give them to her myself but they’ll wilt overnight and there’s another lady I need to see more waiting to give me hell at home. Tell her they match her eyes.”

“You got a sonnet prepared for me to recite as well?”

“That was _one_ time, Keith. Just shut up and give her the flowers, will ya? Oh, and you better be there for breakfast. Somehow if you’re in town and don’t stop by, _I’m_ the one to blame.”

“You usually are for most things.” Keith laughs as Lance gives him the finger before riding off towards home.

...

Shouldering his way into the saloon and inn, he’s greeted by lively familiarity. The long bar gleams at the back of the crowded room littered with glasses of various fullness and contents. There’s an ongoing game of poker at the table beneath the stairs to the left directly across from a small stage on the right where an older, plump woman croons a song to the captivated men at the tables before her. Keith doesn’t spare a second glance at the fistfight that passes him to move into the street. There are many things that Allura will tolerate. Brawls that tear up her fine establishment are not one of them. His ears pick up the singer’s accompaniment from where Coran sits at the piano, fingers dancing across the keys. He eyes the staircase that leads to the rooms for board on the second floor and considers making a run for the solace of his own room.

His escape plans are foiled by a glass being shoved into his hands and a heavy arm slung around his shoulders. The smell of the alcohol makes him question how anyone survives it. Then again, they don’t call it coffin varnish for nothing. He downs it, wincing as he does. “Hey, Anton,” he wheezes.

“Welcome back,” the large man replies with a lazy grin. His Russian accent is particularly thick tonight which only betrays how much he’s had to drink. Can’t blame him. There’s not a whole lot else to do in this town.

Rafael recovers from his shot far quicker. “How were things here?”

With Anton’s attention turned to Rafael so they can catch each other up on the last few days, Keith slips away and weaves between patrons as he heads for the back. Allura is wiping up the bar, gathering empty glasses and dropping them into the basin behind her. To get her attention, Keith dramatically clears his throat and offers the flowers with a flourish he knows Lance would appreciate. “To the lovely lady. They match your eyes apparently.”

“What a charmer.” She smiles behind white curls that have escaped the messy bun at her crown and bounce with her movements as she fills a pitcher with water. She sets the makeshift vase out of the way but still in view on the bar. The apples of her cheeks glow pink around her soft smile and Keith can clearly imagine the dopey look Lance would have on his face in return. He’ll have to be sure to relay the reaction in detail. Lance would accept nothing less after all. “Can I get you anything, Keith?”

“Something to wash the taste of turpentine out of my mouth would be great. No offense.”

Allura laughs and pours him a beer. “None taken. I wouldn’t let Coran overhear you though. He’s very sensitive about his brews, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Keith turns his head towards the tack piano. The singer has finished her songs for the evening which leaves Coran free to play his jaunty tunes while saloon girls mingle with and schmooze the customers. 

“You were gone for a couple of days. Worthwhile trip I hope?”

Keith shrugs. “Not what we were counting on but it’s something. I’m sure we’ll be back out soon enough.” He reaches into his pocket and drops a coin on the bar. “Thanks, Allura.”

“Staying the night?”

“Probably. Too worn out to ride back now.” He gives her a small wave before returning to the group where they’ve gathered at a table near Coran. Considering he and Allura also receive a share of their bounty, they’re not worried about being overheard by the pianist. Not too worried about being heard by anyone else either. Coran’s an enthusiastic musician if anything.

Rafael stands and offers his seat to Keith as he approaches. “We’re going upstairs to divvy this up.” He taps lightly at the lumps under his coat where he’s concealing their haul. They really hadn’t gotten what they thought they would which only guarantees that they’ve got planning to do for the next run. Rafael and Anton head for the stairs leaving Keith alone with Manny and Dmitry who are currently arguing over who knows what.

He reaches for the blade he keeps strapped to his thigh, fingers running over the smooth purple stone in the hilt as his mind wanders. It feels odd sometimes he thinks. That this is his life now. With nobody and nothing keeping him at the orphanage after _he_ left, Keith ran off. He ignores the fact that he’d been afraid of straying too far; of not being able to be found. He did odd jobs here and there for those who would offer them to him but when he was particularly desperate, he would turn to pickpocketing. It’s how he’d met Rafael and his crew after Lance had managed to catch him.

_“Guess you think you’re pretty slick, huh? Stealing from my brother and all.”_

_Keith gives him a blank look and holds out what he’d already swiped from the lanky boy who hadn’t been paying an ounce of attention._

_Lance’s eyes go wide and he slaps at his empty pockets in confusion. “Hey!”_

Keith had turned and taken off in the opposite direction but hadn’t noticed the person coming up behind him in his haste. He’d always been small for his age and in comparison, Rafael may as well have been a brick shithouse. When Keith hits him with full force, he stumbles a bit but ultimately it’s Keith who gets the wind knocked out of him. Rafael wasn’t exactly happy but he’d been more impressed than anything and offered Keith work of sorts. Considering he’d been up to exactly nothing, he’d warily taken the opportunity. He kept his distance at first and bickered with Lance endlessly until they realized they actually worked well together. Lance was the first person who attempted to get close to him; the first person he allowed to. Gradually, he’d filled in the gaps in his story that Lance and the rest of town wasn’t familiar with.

“What are you brooding about over there, hijo del diablo?”

He also explained why he hated that little nickname. His eyes flick to Manny in annoyance. Keith never much cared for him. He’s sloppy. Careless. “I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t like being reminded of papa?”

Keith licks his canine and narrows his eyes but Dmitry cuts him off before he can respond.

“I’d leave him alone if I were you. Might run in the blood.” Dmitry winks at him and while he know he’s only trying to be supportive, Keith can’t help the way his heartbeat quickens at his words. It’s a thought he has often. A thought he dreads. He wants nothing to do with that man. His father. He is grateful though that Manny only makes a face and goes back to his drink as Keith finishes off his own. He supposes that sometimes the rumors can work in his favor.

Dmitry waves one of the girls over and orders a round for the table. Thankfully, what she returns with is far more palatable than what Anton had given him.

They play a few rounds of three-card Monte while waiting for Rafael and Anton to rejoin them. Dmitry’s sleight of hand has improved drastically but since they’re not playing for stakes, he doesn’t bother trying to swindle Keith out of a win making it far easier to pick out the queen of hearts. Played fairly, it does become rather monotonous though.

Two drawstring coin purses are dropped discreetly into Keith’s lap. He glances up at Rafael noting the look of disappointment. “Not what we were expecting, huh?”

He shakes his head. “It’s better than nothing but we’re going to need to go back out soon. We still owe the doctor some money and he said mamá is probably going to need medicine until the day she dies.”

Manny clears his throat and leans in. “What we need is to hit something big.”

Keith’s mouth twists to the side. It’s true. Their town isn’t exactly small and it only continues to grow as people move west for land, adventure, or gold. Maybe all three. He swirls the amber liquid in his glass.

Coran takes a break from the keys to crack his knuckles. It’s clear he’s been eavesdropping. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things. The whole town knows what it is they do. How people stay fed and clothed even when the crops don’t yield as much as expected. But there’s an unspoken rule that it’s just not discussed. As a regular beneficiary, it wasn’t even mentioned by the preacher who prattled on about the ever watching Lord when Keith was young and forced to sit still on a pew that made his tailbone ache for hours after being lectured to about how he could earn his way out of eternal fiery damnation. At the time, the only thing keeping him from embracing the inner heathen the good ladies of the orphanage attempted to beat out of him was mocking the day’s sermon in hushed voices with - 

No. 

He isn’t going to do this. He’d already decided so. Swishing the liquor around in his mouth bitterly, he reasserts to himself that he’s here to stay out of his head. Keith blames the woman from this morning for prying sentimentality from the recesses of his mind. Who knew how long it would take to nail back in place. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath as he takes another long swig. It burns his throat and leaves him hissing between his teeth. So long as it derails the train in his mind from the track it’s currently running, he’ll endure.

An elaborate throat clearing turns the table’s attention. “I hear we’re finally getting a sheriff in town.” Coran says it as easily as if he’s discussing the latest batch of spirits he’s distilled. 

Keith cocks an eyebrow high. “Is that right?”

As a town of mostly immigrants, (see: undesirables) they knew no one particularly cared for them or to look out for them. And while they could have elected their own leadership, it was a quiet town and why fix what wasn’t broken? Aside from what their particular group kicked up, there was little to no real trouble and they never brought any of that mess home.

“I caught wind of that,” Manny pipes up. 

Rafael levels him with narrowed eyes. “And you didn’t think we might be interested in hearing about this little tidbit of information?”

He raises his hands to placate. “Relax. Word is he’s one of us. Not from here. Or at least his parents aren’t.”

Rafael scoffs and leans back in his chair. “Imagine that. Good ol’ boy Marshall Thomas appointing a foreigner to protect and serve. Must be a hell of a guy.”

“That’s not even the best part.” Manny yanks his sleeve down, retracts half of his arm into his shirt, and pulls the empty fabric over his balled fist. “They say he’s only got one arm.”

They can’t hide their disbelief. It had finally happened. Thomas had lost his goddamn mind. “You’re kidding.”

“Cross my heart. That’s all they could talk about when I was away visiting my old lady.”

Keith raises his glass in a half-hearted toast to this mysterious one-armed do gooder and snorts. “God bless him.”

_______

“Good morning, Ms. Espinosa.”

“Buenas, Keith,” she answers easily. She doesn’t move from her place in front of the stove where bacon pops in splattering grease but she does turn her head expectantly, waiting for Keith to give her his cheek.

He smiles as he does, pleased to see her up and about. She’s still a little pale but she’s definitely got more life in her than the last time he had come around. She’d always been kind to him. Treated him like one of her own. Pulled his ear when he and Lance had gotten a little too rambunctious. Never shied away from hugging him despite the rumors he had come into town with. Where some people kept their distance (those who knew to anyway), she would insist he come in and stay for dinner while she fussed over her flaquitos. 

This morning is no different after he’s handed a plate and ushered into his usual seat across from the twins, Claudia and Marcos. They greet him through mouthfuls of runny eggs and lips sprinkled with toast crumbs. A vase of forget-me-nots sits in the center of the table and Keith smiles quietly to himself. One of the things he admires most about Lance is how much he loves his mother. Most men their age pretended to be tough, cold, like they’d been raised by wolves in the wilderness and never known a mother’s affection. It was bullshit and Keith respected Lance’s rejection of that attitude. But to be fair, if there was a mother who deserved that kind of love, it was Mariana Espinosa. She’d raised Lance after all.

Speak of the devil. “Oh good, you made it. I escape death by wooden spoon and live to see another day.”

Keith snickers at Mariana’s murmured, “please, a spoon would take too long” he gets in return.

Lance plops into the chair next to him with his own plate piled high. He rubs his hands together enthusiastically and digs in. “Going to the orphanage?” The words come out muffled around a large slice of ham he pockets in his cheek mid-chew.

Keith swallows down a bite of eggs and bread before answering. “Yep. Hoping my lucky streak continues and I manage to avoid Ms. Luxia yet again. Not much in the mood for a stern talking to. Got enough of those back in the day and look what good they did.”

“Keith, you’re a fine boy. I’m very proud of you.”

He ignores the mocking doe-eyes and full pout Lance is giving him even though he feels his cheeks warming. “Thank you, señora,” he says shyly. He elbows Lance in the ribs hard and pretends like he did nothing when Lance nearly chokes on his food. “Are you making the church run?”

Lance coughs a couple of times to clear his throat before responding. “Yeah. Need to swing by Hunk’s too. Apparently he’s got something for me and then I’m going to the Holt’s to pick up a few things. Meet me there when you’re done. He mentioned he was working on something for you too.”

...

After dumping three quarters of the contents of his own pay into the coin purse he’s delivering to the orphanage, Keith sets off to find Miss Plaxum. She’s newer to the town. Kind, patient, and smart as a whip. Keith had already left when she’d started but he was happy to know that the kids had her to look after them. Who knows. Maybe she would have been able to keep Keith in line.

He finds her in the office as he’d expected and drops the small bag on the desk with a solid clink. He waves off her thanks insisting that it was the least he could do. She and Ms. Luxia do a lot of hard work. Hard work that had benefited him and he wanted to give back what he could. He knew that they’d recently taken in a few new children and needed supplies. Hand-me-downs only last so long after all.

He bids her farewell until next time, relieved that he’d managed to get off easy yet again.

“My my, is that little Keith I see?” 

Perhaps not as easily as he thought. Hearing her voice alone fills him with the sudden instinct to stand up straight, shoulders back. Apparently a few years isn’t long enough to undo that kind of conditioning. He sighs and turns around slowly, hand at the brim of his hat in greeting. “Ma’am.”

Ms. Luxia looks just about the same as she always has though her hair has a little more gray in it than it did when Keith was living under her watchful eye and she seems to have gotten shorter. He remembers when she was such an imposing figure as he stared up at her as a child. 

“It’s been quite some time. Not avoiding me are you?” 

“No, ma’am.”

She takes a seat on the old bench with paint that’s been peeling for years and pats the empty place next to her. Keith hesitates a moment before he takes a seat feeling awkward. He thought he’d outgrown being chastised but it certainly doesn’t feel like it. “You turned out a lot different than I thought you would when we first took you in.”

He feels that touch of shame, that disappointment that he felt yesterday when he was reminded of his mother. He winces. He thought he’d turn out different too.

“Ah, don’t look so glum. I don’t agree with the means but you do a whole lot of good for us. Besides, it suits you. You always were up to trouble. You and that boy. Attached at the hip. What was his name?”

Keith’s gaze drops to the porch between his boots suddenly very interested in a knot in the wood. “Takashi,” he mumbles.

“Takashi, that’s right. A sweet name. Hear much from him these days? I don’t think I’ve seen him in a few years.”

He picks at the skin around his fingers. “No, I haven’t heard anything since he left.” 

“Stop that,” she chides as she slaps his hands. “I taught you better.” She sighs. “You really were a handful. The fighting, my word. And such a nasty temper. That boy was good for you.” She smiles at him wryly. “Can’t say you were much good for him though.” It’s odd to see her like this. Unsettling almost. She was a strict authority figure in his life. He never thought there’d be a point in time where he’d find himself being teased by her. “He was so well-behaved. A quiet child before he took you under his wing. But someone had to look after you on your little escapades I suppose.”

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek as he recalls running around playing cops and robbers and day long games of hide-and-seek. He remembers mouths and fingers stained fuschia by blackberries picked off Mr. Tanaka’s bushes as well as the whooping they’d received for stealing produce meant for the market. He thinks about how they’d laid side by side in the dirt with the stars above them and talked about how they were going to go off and explore the world together. He swallows thickly.

“I thought for sure you’d have gone with him. Why didn’t you?”

And that’s just it. That’s the question he’s been asking for years. One day Shiro was there and the next, he was gone. Nothing more than a promise to return written in his scratchy handwriting as explanation. 

“He didn’t ask me to.” Mood thoroughly soured, he stands and excuses himself curtly and heads for the general store.

...

There aren’t many out of the ordinary sights one expects to come across when entering a general store. However, this is Holt’s General and so Keith doesn’t bat an eye when he steps through the door and finds Lance aiming what appears to be a brand new gun at a somewhat nervous looking Hunk with an apple perched on his head. A few customers have stopped to watch the show at the far end of the store, curious enough to stay and possibly witness a horrible death but far enough away to not get any blood on them.

“New gun?”

“Yep. Hunk smithed it for me.”

Pidge pats a roll of cloth that’s sitting on the counter. “He made some knives for you too.”

“Really? Wow. Thanks, Hunk. What do I owe you?”

Hunk shrugs and reaches up to steady the apple that shifted with the movement. “Don’t worry about it. It was good for practicing consistency since I wanted them all to look and feel the same.”

Keith unrolls the cloth revealing a full baker’s dozen of matching blades. There’s not much to them but considering they’re simply meant for throwing, they don’t need to be fancy. He whistles as he pulls one out of the cloth to test the weight and balance. “They’re beautiful. And you made so many.”

“Thanks. Yeah, kinda got into it and lost track of how many I’d made. If you lose any, you’ll have some spares if anything.”

The steel is cool and smooth in his palm. Solid but not too heavy.

“Ready?” Lance asks. “Hold still.” 

He pulls the trigger and a bullet rips through skin and flesh like butter. Juice splatters as the apple explodes on impact. A couple of the ladies in the back yelp before they start clapping. Hunk lets out the breath he’d been holding and Lance takes a theatrical bow, grinning at a woman before taking her hand and kissing it. Her husband gives him a warning look and he immediately straightens. 

Pidge rings the customers up quickly then, measuring out flour and sugar as requested before sending them on their way. Hunk gathers pieces of the destroyed fruit to toss out and Lance plucks another apple out of a bin.

“Want to test your knives out with Hunk?” Lance asks. He hasn’t noticed the distance that Keith has put between them.

“Nah, this will do fine.”

“What will d- holy shit! _Keith!_ ” A blade pierces the apple in Lance’s hand to the hilt before Lance drops it in wide-eyed panic. 

Keith ignores him completely. “They feel real nice, Hunk. They’re perfect.”

“They’re perfect,” Lance mocks yanking the knife out of the apple in disdain. He drops the blade on the counter and takes a bite, glaring at Keith as he chews. “You could have ruined my shooting hand.”

“You can shoot with both hands.”

“Yeah, and I’d like to keep it that way thank you very much.”

Movement out of the corner of his eye draws Keith’s attention to the window before he can retort. A large black horse mounted by a broad man trots by slowly. He can’t see much of the stranger’s face with his hat pulled down as low as it is aside from a strong jaw and a scruffy beard. His hair is long and dark except for a patch of white in the front. He’s dressed simply. White button up with a dark brown vest and riding pants. His boots are tall, a little worn. What keeps him staring though, mouth open in surprise, is the empty right sleeve, rolled and tucked, just at the elbow. So it is true… 

“See something you like there, Keith?”

He doesn’t even have to look at Lance to know he’s making some kind of suggestive face. “No.”

“By all means, sweet cheeks, if you’d like to volunteer to be the honey pot…”

“ _Lance_.” He knows this is a sore topic. Lance had been there when they’d been dragged to a brothel and an over-served customer, likely suffering from pretty aggressive whiskey dick, made an offhand inquiry about whether or not the “black haired beauty” was available for the night. Keith had punched his teeth in and left him swallowing the blood that hadn’t run down his chin. “That’s him. That’s the new sheriff.”

“No way.”

Hunk’s brow furrows. “But...he’s only got one arm…”

Keith shrugs finally turning back as the horse continues on out of sight. “Coran confirmed it last night. The Marshall appointed us a sheriff and this has to be the guy.”

Lance tosses the apple in his hand once before taking another bite out of it. “Well,” he starts, “he’s going to have his hands full with us.”

“Hand,” Hunk helpfully corrects.

“Hand.”

_______

It’s dark when he finally reaches his shack. It’s old and decrepit but it’s home. After running away from the orphanage, from _him_ , he’d remembered the place they had found one day when they’d talked about running away together. A good distance from town and untouched for what could have been years, they’d made it their hideaway. The porch was rickety with boards that sank with a protesting groan when walked upon but the roof was surprisingly sound.

After unbridling Red and leaving her in the pasture, he steps inside and tosses his hat on the table. Something feels...off. His eyes sweep across the one room house curiously. Keith owned little. The bare necessities. He had no attachment to material possessions. 

Only a partial lie. 

A lone bookcase holds a small collection of books, interesting stones he’d found, and a handful of items left to him except - Keith’s brow furrows and he stops in his tracks. The bandana is missing. _His_ bandana. He’s certain he had left it there folded but no. There’s an empty square devoid of dust where the cloth had sat. Someone had been in the house. Someone had been in the house and taken the single burgundy bandana leaving everything else untouched. But why? Few people knew where to find this place so why - unless…

For the second time today, Keith’s mind drifts unwillingly to Shiro. Another person who had left him behind. Betrayed him. But...couldn’t be. There was no way. He checks the hidden space under the floorboards for good measure and finds not a coin out of place. It makes even less sense for someone to have been there. 

Feet propped up on the porch railing and a cigarette between his lips, he rocks in the chair, eyes gazing unfocused into the desert night. He tilts his head back as he watches the smoke rise and curl into the darkness. He falls asleep to a chorus of howls off in the distance. He dreams of broken promises.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so nervous to start this. It's kind of out of left field perhaps but fuck it. I'm excited to get into the meat of this. Thank you to LJ for signing off on this and thank you to everyone who reassured me that this wasn't a dumb idea lmao find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/princedeadend) and [tumblr](https://princedeadend.tumblr.com/) if you so wish.


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